


Bambi

by sincehewaseighteen



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Assassin AU, Assassin!Harry, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Millionaire!Louis, Riding, well the thing is Harry shouldn't even be classed as an assassin lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincehewaseighteen/pseuds/sincehewaseighteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’re you here for, exactly. I really would love to know.”</p><p>“Just here for a chat,” provokes Harry. “Lovely to get back home, you know. Got a turkey in the oven–”</p><p>“At three in the morning. Get real, Bambi.” Louis deadpans a look at Harry, his eyes emotionless as they bore into him. “You’re here for the zirconia, aren’t you.”</p><p>or the au where harry becomes an assassin and has a mission at louis' house to steal the million dollar zirconia for zayn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bambi

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This is for my sun and tree, [Kimberly](http://newmanagement.tumblr.com) and [Serena](http://aatyo.tumblr.com), on Tumblr <3
> 
> It's probably got a few mistakes because it's 3 in the morning. I'll get back to it.
> 
> Right, so if you're triggered by deaths of any of the boys, just be cautious/don't read the book. I wouldn't consider anything in this book "major character death", as the characters who die aren't developed (nicely) in this story. 
> 
> Also just a PSA about the zirconia, I understand a zirconia is pretty cheap compared to a diamond but lets just pretend that this zirconia is worth x3030948 and is more prized than any sort of gem you could find. Also it's fucking large like a human head and people kind of got confused with that so just clarifying what I had in my head so you might get a better picture of things.
> 
> PLEASE DO NOT PUBLISH ON ANY OTHER WEBSITE. if you wish to translate, please message me on here or on tumblr. x

There’s a whistling in his ear from the bitter wind. Harry thinks Zayn had purposely set him up to do this just so he could freeze to death. Or maybe that he would get a cold, miss a few snotty days of work and then forced resignation will be held against him. Harry knows he won’t last a month in this business; not that he’s trying to last in this business. He just needs the money, then he’ll fuck right off and move to Brazil or something.

He’s going through brambles for some reason. There’s a perfectly good path on the left of him, but it’s a must to stay hidden and quiet. Harry hisses as a sharp stick bites at him through his knitted long sleeve. It’s his favourite shirt, not too sure why he’s wearing it. It’s the darkest thing in his closet. Still, it’s a relatively bright navy in the light of day. He wants to look good, even an assassin on the job needs to look good. Zayn just calls him pathetic.

“100 metres, there’s an underground entrance. Use your torch. It should direct you straight to one of his art rooms,” Zayn buzzes into his ear, his voice quiet despite the fact they’re very much alone. “The zirconia should be where I said it was, unless the bastard has moved it.”

“I… um,” and Harry thinks Zayn might shoot him when he returns back to base, “can you tell me the directions again–”

“For fuck’s sake,” Zayn moans. “Up the stairs, three doors forward, take a left, two doors forward, make another left. A bookshelf is a secret door after the second left. Open it, should be there.”

Harry makes a mental note, but forgets it within five seconds. “Alright, got it,” he lies. “100 metres, got it. I’ve  _got_  it.”

“Well fucking do something then, you haven’t moved an inch in the past five minutes, you clueless shit.” The transmission in Harry’s ear goes out, and he can finally breath easy.

He moves cautiously, counting his steps. 100 metres is so close but so far away, and it ends up feeling much too quick when he finds something that looks to be a rabbit hole by a vine covered fence. First intention is to kick the sides of it. It’s sturdy. It looks large enough for him to crawl in. He knows a bit of parkour, he guesses. Not that he would need to be rolling through the tunnel or something but it’s good to know he knows how to swiftly move.  _Swift_ is his middle name. That is every reason why Zayn shouldn’t fire him.

“It’s the tunnel, you dick bag, go in it,” his boss barks in his ear. Harry rolls his eyes and breathes out a heavy sigh before ducking under and sliding himself into the entrance. It’s a tight fit, his shoulders spread across the diameter of the hole. He shimmies through the first half of it, then it begins to open up a bit more. Not so much to the point where Harry can move around as much but he doesn’t feel as claustrophobic as he once was.

Zayn’s yelling in his ear every six seconds and it’s a wonder how no one else but Harry can hear him. Harry ignores him as he concentrates wriggling through the dirt tunnel, eyes screwed closed by the dust particles throwing themselves into his sockets. Zayn’s frantically barking at him that the entrance is close, that the opening should be soon, but the unfortunate Harry Styles runs straight into the closed entrance blocked by a slab of bullet proof glass.

“Fuck,” says the hurt boy, itching at his head and seething at the pain. His boss tells him to keep his mouth shut and continue with the plan. “I use the… the laser thing, right?”

“Yes, Harry,” Zayn sighs exasperatedly. “And try not to point that thing towards your body, yeah? It cuts through glass like butter. And if you didn’t know your body is much softer than glass–”

“I’m not stupid, Zayn.” And there’s a small scoff from his boss, following a “whatever you say” from his trusted employer.

He pulls out the small laser from the inside of his boot, firing it up and immediately aiming the blue dot at the bottom left hand corner of the thick glass. It cuts straight through, and Harry slices through the glass with one, two, three, four linear lines on each of the sides. He shuts off the laser and pops his hand in the middle of the sliced glass, the perfect cut falling straight to the carpeted floor without noise. Harry grins and slides through the tight space. He’s inside the mansion.

“I’m in,” he reports to Zayn. The man tisks.

“I know Harry, I didn’t put a tracking chip in you for no fucking reason,” the man snarls. Harry stands up straight and traces his eyes around the dark room. It’s a bit stuffy in here. He can’t see shit. There’s only the faint outline of what Harry can make out to be a large door. “Get to the door, follow the directions. You do remember them, don’t you?”

“Um, er…” Harry knows he’ll be fired if he fucks it up. He’s sure he’ll remember it. Under pressure, he’ll remember it. “Yep, got it!”

“Excellent, gonna shut this off for a while. Tommo might have some digital security shit that can track ear transmissions. Don’t fuck it up.”

Zayn’s gone, and so is Harry.

He’s opening the door to what looks to be a hallway. It’s brightened slightly by something of the unknown, but it’s good enough for him. Now, he has to remember. Up the stairs, he thinks, then… four doors right? Or was it five doors left?

Clambering silently up the stairs, he notices when halfway up there’s only three doors left and right. Must be two doors left then. He takes the second door and finds himself in another stuffy, open area. There’s a musk scent lingering under his nose this time; it’s a charming scent. It follows him around the room. There’s another door this time, and Harry takes it without a second thought. He enters an even larger space with buffered tile floors and a two piece lounge in the middle of the hall. Three doors are available, one is in front of him, the second is to his right, leading to the unknown, and the third is the fucking front door.

This isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

So he backtracks and manages to get to the first flight of stairs he climbed. He goes through the third door on the right this time and takes another right when a new door becomes available for him to walk through. There’s another flight of stairs that Harry climbs upon, more weird scents of lavender and… lemon grass?

Harry’s gone through approximately 20 doors and up and down five sets of stairs when he realises he’s lost in the mansion of Louis fucking Tomlinson’s house. Not only is he lost in this rich bastard’s house, but he’s fucking lost his job too. He’s sure of it. There goes his share of a million pounds.

He’s stuck in a library of some sort, trying to figure out if he should try see himself out a window or staying put until early morning where this old man can find him and kill him before Zayn does it himself. He doesn’t do either of those. Instead, he thinks that if he goes through more doors and maybe does some revolutionary parkour he’ll be able to get out of here like the Swift Styles he is.

Another 20 and a bit doors and a commander roll on the floor later, Harry’s still lost.

Harry doesn’t even know what floor he’s on, and it’s not like he can really check without going through another 50 doors to find a window. He ends up giving up and falling into one of the arm chairs in the room. Again, it’s another large room, wooden flooring and a spiral stair case near the left wall. It’s probably his “whisky room”, as Harry can see a large crystalline bottle with yellow contents inside it. He’s hoping it’s whisky. Only one way to find out.

He uncaps the bottle and finds some small glass, crystalline like the bottle, and pours himself a regular shot. He takes a small sip after leaning back into his arm chair, relaxing as the alcohol fuelled a fire in his throat. He becomes lost in one of the paintings on the wall, glaring at the beauty of what looks to be a young daughter and her much older father. That must be the Tomlinson bloke and his offspring, or maybe a young wife that wants his money. Or a prostitute by all chances. Whoever it is, it’s better than Harry will ever get.

Harry sets down his glass of whisky, one lonely sip out of it and he’s feeling too bothered to try and handle this current situation. Zayn should know by now. An hour into this mission and Harry hasn’t even put his hands on the zirconia. Zayn knows Harry’s failed. Harry doesn’t even want to try anymore. He’ll get a million pounds with something else.

He stands to walk out, to neglect himself from the fact that he’s actually a successor, that he’s actually able to not fuck things up. Instead, he’s met with a daring pair of eyes that isn’t a painting, that isn’t one of his stupid statues, but a young man who’s dressed in a tight white long sleeve and has even tighter black jeans on. His face is clean shaven, eyes electric blue even with the lack of light seeping into the room. Maybe it’s one of Tomlinson’s slaves.

The man in front of him smirks as Harry stands frozen. He could kill him with the laser, but his bones are chilled with fear. His slave might be exquisite at taek won do or something, might kill him with a simple touch at the pressure point in his neck. So Harry just stares, and the bloke only stares back, still, with a crude sneer growing bigger and bigger.

“Should do something by now, shouldn’t you,” the man speaks suddenly, voice high and sweet. Like one of those cherry lollies that stain your tongue red. “Looks as if you’re looking for a certain something, aren’t you.”

They’re not questions, Harry knows. This bloke is smart. Well, it doesn’t take so much to realise Harry  _is_  here for something.

“Bloke like you shouldn’t be doing so much useless parkour,” the man laughs, stepping forward with that same shit eating grin teetering on his face. “You sound like a fucking elephant.”

Harry frowns. “It isn’t useless, thank you very much.”

“Yeah but it is. Woke me up in the middle of my sleep. Quite hard to get back to sleep when Bambi on ice is in your house,” the man chuckles, his body close to Harry’s. So close to the point the man could reach forward and glide his fingers on Harry’s shoulders. His arms are folded, however, unable to institute contact. “So what’s all this then, planning to murder me? Steal some of my aromatics? Candles are a favourite of mine, you see. Not really willing to lose those.”

The man is endearing, Harry can admit that. “Who are you?” Harry questions. The man scoffs and rolls his eyes, probably offended. Harry can’t tell.

“Enter my house without a shit’s clue on who I am. Did you just see a house and thought it’d be worthy to rob it from its precious insides?” The man asks, but there’s no answer from Harry. “Louis Tomlinson, enthusiast of all things to do with art. Need anything else from me, young sir?”

So this is  _Louis Tomlinson_ , not some old fat man as he’d imagined with a wiry beard and rotten finger nails. A pretty young lad, chiseled cheeks and quiffed caramel hair.  _Twink_ , maybe. A small, curvy body; his clothes contort to his shape. Dainty little hands with fingers that tut against his skin while Harry checks him out. Oh God.

“You’re not as I expected, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis laughs charmingly. “What else can you expect from a twenty six year old?”

“Maybe the fact that you haven’t killed me yet.”

“Hm, now that you say that,” Louis grins and steps forward, even fucking closer, and oh, his eyes are really fucking pretty. His eyelashes curl and flutter like sparkled pixie wings as they blink to Harry, standing confused but rather amused. “Name?”

Harry gulps and stammers out a, “W-What?”

“Your fucking name. What’s your name?” Louis barks. Harry answers appropriately, a sigh escaping his lips when Louis hums blithely. “Hm, Harry. Bit of a dashing name for someone as average as you.”

Harry glowers at the pretty boy in front of him. “You’re not too brilliant yourself for a _Louis._ ”

“Yeah, but guess who’s the millionaire with the zirconia in the next room.”  _Fuck!_ He should have gone the next room! “Tell me, Harold–”

“Harry,” he corrects.

“Fucking  _whatever_  Bambi,” Louis barks. Their toes are touching now and there’s a teeny finger poking sharply between one of Harry’s ribs. “What’re you here for, exactly. I really would love to know.”

But Harry knows Louis knows, because he wouldn’t have mentioned the zirconia earlier. Louis is just taunting him with stupid words and a seductive look that is really fucking hard to miss. Harry stands still, breathing carefully as he answers Louis.

“Just here for a chat,” provokes Harry. “Lovely to get back home, you know. Got a turkey in the oven–”

“At three in the morning. Get real, Harold.” Louis deadpans a look at Harry, his eyes emotionless as they bore into him. Harry just keeps getting something from him and he doesn’t know what. The finger is jabbing straight into his nerves and it might just be the right nerves he’s pushing. His heart’s beating a mile a minute and he’s not sure if it’s from the incredible sense of lust he’s suddenly feeling or from the anxiety he’s receiving from being a word and a half away from being killed. “You’re here for the zirconia, aren’t you.”

Harry can’t think straight, because Louis’ eyes narrow and it’s not one of hatred. It’s those bedroom eyes. He’s seen them before, pupils blown with lower lids slightly puffed to concentrate more thoroughly on Harry’s every tiny move. After a few silent seconds, Louis’ fists are bundled into Harry’s favourite shirt and he’s being held with a hand on his sternum. Harry’s so fucking dead.

“Doesn’t take much breath to answer, Harold,” Louis irks, no release on Harry whatsoever. Harry doesn’t answer him, neither does he have the capacity of breath to answer him because Louis is fucking flawless when he’s tempered and aggravated. He’s soft, even when he looks like that. He’s fucking about but Harry knows in the back of his mind Louis definitely means business. But there’s nothing Harry can do but see beautiful millionaire who is still giving him the bedroom eyes.

Then, unexpectedly, he’s shoved into the wall, and Louis is there to meet him with his hand returning in a fist to his chest. It’s relentless, the tight squeeze of not only Louis’ hand at his sternum but on either side of them where two tables of antiques end just at their thighs. Harry’s wondering how he didn’t fuck up and run into those.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?” Louis teases, a hand coming up from his side and smoothing up Harry’s arm. His fingers trace right across his shoulder, on his collar bone and rest at the junction of his neck. Fuck, Louis is going to kill him. “Or is he just a bit  _scared_?”

“Fuck that,” barks Harry. “Scared isn’t in my dictionary.”

“Oh, love, too bad it radiates from your body,” Louis laughs, fingers leaving his neck and gliding down his smooth chest. The hand is still tightly bundled in the middle of his chest, but Louis avoids that and slides his fingers past one of Harry’s nipples instead. Harry’s breath hitches. “Too tense, babe. Should try for a massage.”

Harry blinks at Louis. “I’m not tense, fuck wit. I don’t need a massage–”

“Fuck wit, is that the best you can do?” Louis chuckles menacingly, his bundled hand loosening slightly. “You didn’t answer my question, babe. Are you here for the zirconia?”

Harry just cocks up an eyebrow at Louis, a lopsided smile hard against his lips. The bundled hand is released completely and now settles on his chest with the palm flat to the surface. The other hand, however, doesn’t stop moving around his torso, doing small figure eights and random uneven circles. Harry’s still having a hard time breathing.

“You’re a twat,” Louis hisses.

Harry grins. “Hm, twat. Surely you can do better than that,” mocks Harry. Louis’ fingers move faster against his chest, and his face moves closer to Harry, almost to whisper into his ear.

“Can do better than that, Bambi, but seems like you’re not worthy enough to hear some of my sickest terms,” Louis spits. “You’re not going to find the zirconia. You’re not going to get it for your fuck boy Malik. Would have doubled him over with my rifle if it was him here instead of you.”

“How nice of you.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t said a word about my plans for you, yet.”

Harry swallows. His gut bubbles nervously as Louis’ fingers slide up and press against Harry’s collarbones. Harry lifts his head and exposes more of his neck, porcelain skin inviting Louis to do what he wants, and to do it quick. Louis only giggles.

“Frightened little kitten, aren’t you.”

Harry closes his eyes and tilts his head back to the wall, back of his head knocking against the frame of one of Louis’ oil paintings.

“I’m not fucking frightened, you shit,” Harry whispers. “I wouldn’t be scared of a mouse like you. You’re fucking tiny. I could own you.”

A surprised Louis barks out an “oh” and then sneers, “Really now. Own me? I might be fucking tiny but there’s a whole fucking lot hidden behind these muscles of mine, Harold.” Louis curls his hand behind Harry’s neck and slides his thumb to caress Harry’s cheek bones. Louis smiles before leaning in to kiss him chastely. Harry’s zealous to kiss him back. “Pretty fucking fit for a robber, aren’t you.”

“Assassin, actually.”

“Pfft,” Louis scoffs. “You haven’t killed a man in your life. Fucking want to bet you’re the idiot who initiated the Save The Deers and managed to get that law put up. You and your fucking Bambi friends. Now, thanks to you, I have no fucking deer on my wall.”

Harry laughs. “I’m not that soft.”

“Yeah but you fucking are.” And Louis kisses him again, and again. “Christ, everything about you is soft, Harold. Zayn hasn’t brought me a fit one in months. They’re fucking useless to taunt. They head home either empty handed or in six pieces. But you’re fucking doing parkour and… fuck, you took my whisky, didn’t you.”

“It’s pointless for me to answer,” Harry says with a grin. “You know already.”

Louis pulls himself in impossibly closer, their breaths mixing and, yes, Louis can smell the sweet taste of the alcohol. “Christ, kiss me, let me taste it on your tongue, you piece of shit.”

Harry’s grin lasts a little longer before he has pulled Louis in by the hip and locked themselves together. He lets Louis taste the alcohol swimming on his tongue, and Harry’s actually surprised that the taste is still there. Louis’ little hands are tugging softly at the ends of Harry’s hair and it keeps Harry gasping between their open mouth kisses. His finger tips dig tight into Louis’ hip bones and he’s gripping him close, pushing his lower half into Louis and grinding experimentally into Louis’ crotch. Louis breathes in harshly and pulls away, lips falling below Harry’s jawline as he sucks a simple love bite just under his ear. Perfect.

“Fuck, I’m never going to get over how fit you are,” Louis murmurs, lips tight against Harry’s neck and hand being dragged down Harry’s torso. It lands down below, flat against Harry’s crotch where Louis digs the heel of his palm into him. Harry groans heavily and hangs his head low to touch his forehead to his shoulder. It’s torture. This is how Louis is going to kill him. He’s sure of it.

“Like shit you’re twenty six,” Harry hisses. “You’re probably sixteen, you twink.”

“And you think I’m going to believe you when you say you’re an assassin?” Louis laughs, bouncing back on his heels and blinking with his eyes falling all over Harry’s body. “I mean look at you, a fucking model.”

Harry smirks. “Looks can kill, you know–”

“Oh my God, shut the fuck up.” Louis trips back into him and flails his arms around Harry’s neck, forcing themselves together with lips tight against one another. Harry’s hands are warm against Louis’ hips again, pawing at the soft spots just above the bone. Louis softly sighs out and relaxes against Harry’s chest, his eyes creeping open. “You’re fucking weak.”

“Weak? Ha,” Harry growls, his hands tugging at Louis’ jeans with his fingers slipping in the belt loops. He teases the man with a dry peck on the mouth. Louis doesn’t take his actions lightly.

“Fucking trying to cause trouble, aren’t you Bambi? Weakling like _you_  can’t own _me_. One finger on me and I bet I can have you on the floor without breaking a sweat.”

Harry laughs incredulously. “How about me between your legs as a bonus?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you.”

So Harry raises that finger and pokes it straight into his navel. He twists and oh, he’s between Louis’ legs with wrists pinned above his head and the millionaire’s lovely face right up close. He’s panting, but hasn’t broken said sweat. Impressive.

“Eh,” Harry shrugs. His other comments are muffled by Louis’ tongue down his throat. Their teeth are clicking while mouths are moving messily, causing some sort of spur between their lagged breaths. Harry’s legs raise to block Louis from ever moving from his spot. By what it seems it does the trick. He can feel Louis’ knees by his waist and they’re closing in ever so slightly, like if his legs could crush him. Maybe his thick thighs could when Harry’s got his face smothered by Louis’ ass. God, he would so love that right about now.

Louis gasps for air above him. Harry’s hands are starting to feel numb from the bound grip on his wrists. “Now, Bambi,” Louis begins, “lesson learned today, hm. What was it?”

“That you’re fucking weak?”

Louis gives a faint chuckle and a counterfeit smile, removing one of his hands from Harry’s wrists but doubling up a hand with two. He’s pretty strong, not that Harry’s putting anything against him.

“You’re a cute one,” Louis says, his voice light with humour. Harry’s about to laugh with him but there’s a hand curling slowly around his neck. Painfully slow. Harry can feel his ring curve right where his windpipe is. There’s no pressure but Harry’s losing breath. Harry’s eyes are wide when they meet with Louis’ snake slits. They’re intimidating. “I mean fucking business, Harry. When I say fuck off, I fucking mean it. Don’t think that next time I’m going to let you down easy, that I’m going to kiss your sweet sorrows because you’re some  _once in a lifetime_  opportunity. To me, one let down and everything can fade from the tips of my fingers. Just like how easily I can take your life,” and Louis’ grip tightens around his throat. Harry squeaks. “With my bare hand.”

Harry doesn’t blink. He doesn’t think he can close his eyes again until he’s out of danger. Louis’ hand removes itself and soon Harry’s sitting up and Louis is standing, pacing back and forth with his wrist and hand clutched behind his back. Harry stays seated for a bit, regaining breath and the motivation to try and talk Louis into which way home was, because seriously he has no fucking clue. But Louis answers for him.

“Downstairs twice, four doors right. Or take the window, your choice.” Louis is facing him now, the cold from the outside expressed sharply on his face. Harry still finds him mesmerising.

Harry stands and paces to the door, but he’s stopped by a faint call of “Bambi”.

“Tell Malik that if he tries this again, I’m paying him a visit,” Louis warns. “I’ll bring over some Yorkshire tea, maybe some Mary Jane. I’ll have both over his dead body when I skin him alive. Be a nice rug for my library, don’t you think?”

Harry’s hand tightens on the door knob. He’s afraid to look back. He’s  _afraid_. “You’re fucked, Louis Tomlinson.”

He doesn’t look back, but he can hear him sneer. “Good to see you too, Harold.”

Harry leaves (and he gets lost five times but he leaves, empty handed).

***

Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose and murmurs out something that sounds like 15 swear words in French, German and Japanese. Probably is.

“The fucking art of seduction,” Zayn snarls, spinning around in his office chair and resting his fingers along the computer keys. He begins to type frantically with exasperated sighs leaving his mouth every few seconds. Harry stands in the corner, bemused.

“You know,” starts Niall, “Tommo being intrigued by Harry could be a plus one for us. All we need is for him to become weak at the knees.”

“Yeah but he’s not fucking intrigued by Harry, you twit,” Zayn barks at his partner. “He’s fucking manipulating Harry. Look what happened to Nick. First thing the bastard kissed him, taunted him, then he was in six pieces the next time we got him!” Harry gulps. “I’m surprised  _Bambi_  got out of there without a scratch.”

Niall snorts, covering it with subtle sweep of his hand over his mouth. “That nickname’s ridiculous.”

“It really isn’t. Your ass was doing parkour all over the place, apparently, and you couldn’t fucking shut  the noise up. You could have been in there much longer if you didn’t fuck up, Harry. We could have got it, and you could be a million richer. Now, we have to try again, and risk shit all over,” Zayn scolds. “Far out.”

“So, um,” Harry confronts nervously, “does that mean I have to see Louis again?”

“You’re not fucking seeing Louis again. You’re going to his house again, yes, but I swear to fucking God if you see him again you fucking run. He’ll find the nearest katana and throw it,” Zayn warns, eyes turning back to the computer screen where he types and speaks simultaneously. “He’s not one to mess around with, Styles. He’s a dangerous man. He’s fucked up in the head, a master. We’ve been trying to get this zirconia for years. We’ve failed with each man we’ve sent.”

Harry glowers and folds his arms, eyes boring in to the back of Zayn’s head. “Then why are you sending me?”

Zayn’s shoulders move up and down. “You’re easy to talk to.” Harry knows Zayn’s lying.

“Z, look,” Niall says smoothly, pacing towards the office chair. His hands curl around the back of the seat to stabilise himself. “We need a new tactic. Louis knows us well. He knew Harry was in for the zirconia, but Harry never said so. Harry’s already half way there, we both know Louis hasn’t been so handy with men for a while–”

“If you think I’m going to agree that Harry’s way of getting the gem is by fucking his way through Louis Tomlinson, then you’re pretty fucking daft.”

“Just listen, Zayn,” Niall soothes. “If Harry taunts him more, if he just kisses him up, does a few things… it’s easy! The moment Louis is asleep Harry can fetch the zirconia and get out of the joint. Louis will be too buggered to move!”

Harry’s mind stutters with his words. “I-I–”

“You’re alright with it, aren’t ya ‘arry?” Niall spins his head around to talk back to the boy still in the corner. Harry is left speechless at the idea. “C’mon, getting paid and laid. What a dream.”

“I-I just… will it work?” Harry asks anxiously. “It’s just Louis doesn’t want me near him again. He knows I’m not just there for the fun of it. He won’t put the idea away that I’m in for the gem.”

Silence fills the room. Niall’s back with his eyes on Zayn who taps his fingers in thought on his desk. It’s all in his hands now. Either Harry’s going to go back, get a fuck out of Louis, and leave with the zirconia, or he’s going to be forced back in to try and find it and get killed by Louis’ nun chucks, or something. Secretly, he’s hoping the first one, although it’s not that much of a secret by the way Harry’s bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you’re getting a fuck on the job,” Zayn barks out. “Whatever, but Niall will work you through the next time you go in. I’m not going to try and work you around again.”

Harry grins. His job just got even better.

***

It’s two weeks later, same time and same place. But this time, Harry’s at the front door of Louis’ house knocking like some sort of lonely sap. He’s wearing a trench coat, inside bare with only a light cotton t-shirt over his torso and tight leather pants curving around his calves. He’s slightly hoping tonight will be good, and that he’ll be paid by the time tomorrow comes.

It’s late twelve in the morning, and in front of him two minutes later is a scruffed up bloke with stubble now peppering his little chin. Louis is so fucking tiny and Harry really wants to scoop him up and kiss him a little. But he needs to pace himself. Rushing things will tighten the string, as Niall would say.

Louis blinks up to him and inspects him carefully. He knows it’s Harry, there’s a glint in his eye that sparkles up in recognition, but the sparkles fade in a split second. Louis sighs and leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest with his eyes scraping up and down Harry’s lean body.

“Weird way to intrude my house, Bambi,” Louis says humourlessly. “Usually there’s more of a dramatic entrance, or maybe some type of secret spy thing–”

“I’m not here on a mission, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Harry begins. A suspicious Louis squints at Harry. Harry talks. “It’s… it’s a little complicated.”

Louis is thrown by Harry’s words. He pushes himself from the frame and stands straight, but there’s still attitude in his stance. “What’s complicated?”

Louis looks really lovely tonight. Black sweatpants which actually might be made of satin, and very light cotton long sleeve that cover over the back of his hands, like sweater paws. He must be freezing with this wind creeping into his house. Shit.

“Can we talk, for a minute?” Harry nods over his shoulder, implying that they should talk inside where they could have a nice mug of tea and maybe a few apple slices. Louis grants him access immediately, which is surprising, and lets Harry slide through without a second thought. Louis shuts the door behind him before striding leftward. Harry follows with intent.

The two end up together in Louis’ kitchen, which is… okay, probably bigger than Harry’s entire loft. Harry’s sat at the island counter with his hands laced together on top of the marble. Louis sits next to him, hands kept to himself and Harry hopes it wouldn’t stay that way for long. He needs to do this. If he wants the cash, he needs to get the best out of Louis.

But it’s going to be fucking difficult. “This is weird.”

“Ha, sounds just like you, Harold,” Louis teases. “What’s weird is the fact you’re here, seemingly not on a mission, after I told you never to come back again.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologises. There’s small chatter in his ear at the moment, probably Niall yelling at Zayn in the next room. Looks like he needs to wing this. “I… um, I’m just having a hard time sleeping, you know.”

Louis quirks up an eyebrow at the boy. “You came to me for sleeping advice? Do you think I sleep like a baby when I have to watch out for Bambis every ten seconds? Have a bottle of whisky, it’ll knock you right out–”

“N-No, I’m having a hard time sleeping because…” Harry looks to his hands and fiddles with his fingers. It’s shameful enough to say it even without meaning it. But, he kinda does mean it at the same time, which is bewildering. “I just keep thinking about you.”

Louis studies him for a minute, probably to see if he’s genuine. He’s hoping he looks innocent enough to play him. “Were you dropped on your head as a child, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry answers. “Three times.”

“For God’s sake, you don’t fucking have feelings for me, ‘right?” Louis snaps. “And don’t say you don’t, because if you keep thinking about me it’s as clear as a fucking summer’s day that you’re fancying me.”

Harry’s blatantly confused. “What’s wrong with having feelings for you?”

“The problem is, Harry, I mess with people’s emotions,” Louis says. “You’re going to fucking fall for me for the stunt I pulled off last week then you can forget about it. That was a pathetic attempt to rile you up.”

“It wasn’t pathetic,” Harry frowns. “It riled me up, but it wasn’t pathetic.”

“You’re an idiot, Harry,” Louis hisses coldly. Harry’s heart sinks a bit; that’s not really supposed to happen. He feels useless,  as useless as his parkour. He’s here for a mission to get Louis to fuck him, but then again, it also feels like a mission to get Louis to like him.

They’re staring for a while, awkward staring. Harry never takes his eyes from Louis, but his murky eyes exchange from the hanging pans above them to the marble counter to Harry’s eyes to the fridge on the other side of the room. Harry doesn’t know what to say, because yes, he is an idiot. Harry can admit that himself, but hearing it from someone else, someone who seemed so endearing and charming, just makes him feel like shit.

Without anything more to say, Harry thinks he should leave. Fuck what Niall or Zayn says. Tonight is definitely not the night.

“Do you want me to leave?” Harry frightens him, Louis jumping in his skin. Harry holds back an inappropriate snort and trains his eyes on Louis’ slouching body. Louis shakes his head lightly.  _What._ “Louis, did you hear me?”

“Yes, and I don’t want you to fucking leave,” he bites. He guesses this is kind of good, maybe Louis does have a bit of a heart for Harry, or maybe he wants to kill him.

“Why?”

Louis sighs, annoyed, and leans an elbow on the marble counter with his hand running through his hair. “Why do you make me feel like shit, Harry?” And that’s hypocritical, thinks Harry. Louis continues before Harry could jump forward with a disproving answer. “I say fuck all and you give this stupid pout, and… you fucking say you have feelings for me as if it’s an every day job.”

Harry almost thinks he’s caught out, but the deep frown on Louis’ face says otherwise. “I don’t mean to make you feel bad. I just… you know, I wanted to let you know. It’s something I do.”

“Well, it’s a pretty shit thing to do,” Louis says. “Because what am I meant to say back? I met you two weeks ago. Do you think I have the same feelings for you too?”

Harry doesn’t give him an explicit answer, only cocking up his eyebrows and softening his glare to the millionaire. He’s hoping Louis does have a soft spot for Harry. Not only would that be good for the mission, but also for the bucket list he made five minutes ago.

“Harry…” he whispers this time. He’s shaking his head frantically, looking shaken up. “Look… you…” Louis is trying to get something out. His mouth is open but nothing is coming out but struggled breaths. He could be having a heart attack, but eh. “Y-Yeah…I-I think you need to leave.”

Harry takes the get out of jail card and leaves with a small kiss to Louis’ temple. There’s a grumble of aggravation from Louis, but it’s better than being called a bastard.

***

The problem is Louis isn’t even intentionally playing hard to get. Louis just doesn’t like him. Harry’s itching at the thought of chasing for something he can’t have.

The next time he sees Louis is during the day. A quiet day inside a coffee shop, like some fantasy tale that probably ends up with the two characters fucking at home after person A spills the coffee on person B. Harry thinks he might take that route, maybe ruin one of Louis’ 400 dollar shirts, and it’ll end up in the place Harry really needs to be.

Seven weeks since officially meeting Louis, and Harry’s going nuts. If it were a tough mission beforehand to get the zirconia then this side mission to get Louis to fancy him is a fucking nightmare. Those “sleepless nights” Harry had told him two weeks ago have become a reality. There’s a constant throb of pain in his chest and it might be a serious heart problem, like heartbreak, or cardiovascular disease. Nevertheless, Harry hasn’t been able to live his life without a blue eyed millionaire blocking his mind.

He’s on a morning stroll. It seemed appropriate. In his hand is a freshly made mocha latte warming up the folds of his skin. Louis is in the line of three, unaware of Harry’s eyes on him. Harry walks forward contemplating the thought of walking out of the shop without a word being said. After all, Louis hates him. Why would Harry try and make him hate him more.

Then again, hate is the lowest it can get. Harry nudges him with his knuckles, skin gliding across Louis’ leather trench coat. Feels terribly expensive. Harry shouldn’t even be standing so close to someone worth more than his entire existence.

Louis is the first one to speak with a shit-eating smirk on his face. “Lost your way to the exit door, Bambi?”

“Hi,” Harry responds, a nonchalant nod from Louis greeting him back. Harry shifts the cup in his hand and nervously blinks up to the soft blue eyes that haunt his dreams.  _Fuck_ , Harry wants to grip his hips and bruise his fingertips into him. “Why’re you here?”

Louis stares at him like he’s ridiculous, but that’s nothing new. “In line to buy the biggest zirconia in the world, of course. But oh wait,” Louis cheekily pinches at Harry’s forearm and grins dulcetly, “pretty sure that’s still at my house, untouched.”

Harry laughs passively, mainly to try earn a reaction out of the millionaire. There’s nothing leading up to that unlikely moment, however. Louis just stands tall (enough) with his hands deep in those rich pockets. There’s probably a thousand quid in each of those alone. Even that’s not worth as much as Harry is…  _he_  thinks.

“Do you… maybe,” and Harry knows this is a dangerous task. It’s not risky in the fact he might be beheaded and thrown to some hidden dungeon where Louis keeps heinous tigers, probably. His heart is racing, his palms are dripping with limitless amounts of sweat and he begins to feel like he’s drowning in the awkward silence between them. Louis is glaring, hard, wanting Harry to fucking hurry up with what he’s anticipating to spit out.

And he finally says it.

“Do you want to go… to the park, maybe? Talk? Go for a walk?” It’s a relief to get it out; to ask Louis out. As risky as it is for his own heart, his own mind, he needs to get to know him. Not because it’s a mission, because he seriously, genuinely likes the guy. The stupid, millionaire, murderous guy.

Louis has an eyebrow up, blank as the “specials!” menu board to their left. Louis is clueless. Harry can see Louis fiddling with the fibres in his pockets, either nervous, or contemplating an assassination on spot. And Harry really just wants to leave before his heart gets murdered from rejection, or a Swiss Mini Gun.

There’s a call for “next please,” and Louis takes that as his escape. He orders, cashing out on a double shot vienna to take away. Harry keeps cautious; the way Louis is slowly shuffling back, the fidgety actions of his fingers when he pulls out his wallet, and how Louis actually turns back to Harry to ask if he wanted anything as well. Harry declines, but Louis rolls his eyes and pays for two vienna’s in the end.

Louis moves to the side, close to Harry, to let other customers take their orders. Harry tilts his head down to get an answer from the avoided question, but Louis is already there to meet eyes with him.

“You know it’s freezing outside,” Louis reminds unnecessarily. “But if it’ll make you happy, whatever. We can go for a walk, Bambi. Need to train those dopey legs of yours anyway.”

Harry could probably think of other ideas to train his legs, but Louis hands him his vienna and they’re both out of the shop, the stroll to the park simply breathtaking. But not so much as Louis.

***

When he arrives home he’s contented. It was a pleasant afternoon with Louis. His tranquility is removed when his mobile buzzes aggressively in his pocket. There’s only one person who’d call right on dot at 2 in the afternoon. And Harry sighs exasperatedly before answering the phone.

There’s yelling before he could even greet the man on the line. “You’re going tonight, or there’s not going to be any fucking money for you. You understand me, Styles? Why have you left this for so long!”

Harry purses his lips together, shooting up his eyebrows before saying, “Hi, Zayn.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Harry. You better fuck him tonight and get that zirconia when he’s sedated.”

It’s all about the zirconia, the money, for Zayn. But Harry has a little bit more to lose. Not that Louis actually has feelings for him, or anything. But Harry still thinks there’s the pressure that Louis could hate him more than hate. Is that even possible? Hate upon hate? Whatever it is, Harry doesn’t want to cross into that area.

So Harry nods, realising that his silence is angering Zayn. He starts throwing profanities and the fragile deer, Harry cowering into a couch and taking in Zayn’s words like a saturated sponge; or not listening to him at all basically. Zayn leaves (finally) and Harry’s left to his own peace with a microwave meal and the thought of Louis’ delicate voice replaying in his mind.

Louis is so… interesting. Not that Harry wouldn’t have thought that he was, but he’s so much more than what he anticipated. Louis has tones, has certain levels of speaking. He’s sarcastic when he’s bubbly and horny, more sardonic when his blood is toxic with murder. He also loves talking about the world around him. Harry supposes he’s the type of guy who likes to think the world revolves around him, and Harry doesn’t mind that. He does seem like the sun, after all.

Louis sips his coffee with a pinky out, and there’s always the gather up on his stubble under his nose. He collects any leave behinds with his little tongue, a cute pop out of pink and it made Harry giggle earlier. Louis noticed, and frowned, but that’s okay. Harry is so enamoured by every little feature on his face, everything seems to be in place - perfect place. Harry kind of hates that.

But Harry can’t hate him. Not someone like him. A bitchy millionaire, a sweet guy. Harry wants to hold Louis and have a few drinks with him. Maybe talk about art for an unnecessary amount of hours. Bake some cookies and knock hips with each other when going to fetch ingredients…

Harry exhales when he touches his hot plate of Grade E food, sitting alone, eating alone… all alone until tonight.

***

“Why are you here.”

It’s not a face Harry’s foreign from, the way Louis’ stern eyes bore into his skin. It’s no longer intimidating, however, more like a rabbid chihuahua that produces meows instead of barks. Harry smiles lightly. Zayn’s in his ear telling him to stay smooth, make himself look innocent. It’ll make Louis fall weak at the knees.

“I wanted to talk again.” Harry knows he sounds like an idiot. Louis confirms this with a quirk of his eyebrow, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Instead, he lets Harry in without any questions asked. As if this was a normal thing for them. Like if they were  _friends._

This time, Louis shuts the door behind him and doesn’t move. Harry’s left standing in the open walkway, blinking at Louis who doesn’t seem to be doing much. Harry decides to check him out, because why the fuck not at this point. He’s got something casual slipped over his golden skin tonight, blackish jeans over his sinful legs and a button up white long sleeve that looks a little like a woman’s blouse. Whatever. He’s rocking it.

“You wanted to talk?” Louis says, probably more of a statement, but he’s baffled. His eyes are soft against Harry, arms folded over his chest. He’s tired, perhaps. Or maybe he’s sick of Harry’s face, bored of it.

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, unsure of what to really do. It really isn’t an appropriate time for Zayn to go off the line to him. Great. “I… um, I just– I forgot to tell you today that it was nice to go out with you.”

There’s a weird tension between them, and Harry doesn’t know where it had come from, or what it’s supposed to mean. Louis quirks up a faint smile, hardly noticeable to Harry, but it’s there. Harry knows it’s there. It’s beautiful.

“I haven’t been out on a date in a while,” Louis tells. “It’s nice… you know? To talk to someone, to someone who listens.”

A  _date_. “I… I never said it was a date?”

“Oh shut up, Bambi, of course it was a date. You’re easier to see through than a fucking window.” But Harry genuinely never said it was a date. Nor did he intend it to be. They’re not dating. They’re simply friends, or something. What is Louis trying to imply.

“It wasn’t a date,” Harry confirms.

Harry’s got him dead in the eye. Louis’ shifts uneasily. His eyes narrow before softening again, then his body language changes completely. Louis is stiff up straight, arms still crossed, and he’s walking towards Harry. Louis’ shoes click against the polished tiles of the hallway, meeting Harry close. Their toes touch.

“We went out together because you wanted to get to know me, or because you wanted me to buy you coffee?” Louis asks. Harry shrugs, because both boxes are ticked. “That’s a date, you pansy.”

“I said it wasn’t a date,” Harry grins, “but seems as if you wanted it to be a date, trying to prove me wrong?”

“No,” he scoffs, doing a terrible job to cover himself up. “Babe, don’t try and pretend. You even said you had feelings for me before. You want to get to know me. You want to date me.”

“I did have feelings for you before,” Harry nods, “but doesn’t mean I still have feelings; or that I want to date you.”

“Well you’re quick to change your mind, aren’t you?”

But Harry’s not trying to prove that he  _doesn’t_ have feelings for Louis, because he does. He really does. And there’s the  _fucking_  mission; that’s why he’s here. It’s the only reason why he’s here.

The smaller man is glaring up to him, a gentle smirk on his face. Louis is tiny; a mini mastermind. Harry can’t find him any less than adorably gorgeous.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry questions, probably not needed to be asked but consent is quite necessary. Louis’ weak smirk blows out to spread widely across his face. Harry thinks that’s a big enough yes in itself.

“And what will happen if I do?” Louis asks him. “Got poison on your lips? Ready to kill me?”

Harry kisses him anyway, only a chaste lip kiss. He doesn’t feel so pressured by the killer anymore. He doesn’t feel so tense in trying new things; possibly new, potentially life threatening things. “Could kill you when I sit on your face.”

“Oh,” Louis barks with a laugh. Louis hooks his fingers into Harry’s belt loops, closing their space and letting their denim chaff together. “So the minx is actually here for a fuck then?”

“I did  _not_  say that!” Harry hisses, offended. But Louis takes that denial as nothing more than a struggled attempt to look profound. The grin that stays on Louis’ stupid face says so. “Don’t look… don’t  _assume_ , you bastard! That’s preposterous!”

Louis pouts out his little bottom lip, red and glossy under the faint light. “Not nice to call me names, Harold.”  _Hypocrite._  “But pretty sure the past two months have been you trying to get into my  _oblivious_  pants, Bambi, not to assume too much or anything.”

Harry just gives up on trying to be subtle and innocent. And Zayn might kill him but Louis had asked. Louis knows what Harry wants.  _Good_ , this is working.

Harry leans down to rest his forehead against his left shoulder, giggling timidly before sliding his fingers to touch at Louis’ skinny waist. He can feel Louis’ breath against his neck, trembling for an odd reason. Is Louis nervous? Possibly. Unlikely, though. Maybe riled up.

“If you want,” Harry teases. Louis snickers from his throat. “I’m all yours, if you want me.”

“So I was right,” and Louis is too happy about that. The narcissistic asshole. Always so full of himself, always needing to be right. And despite Louis being right, and Harry getting what he wants (and needs), Harry doesn’t want him to take those assumptions of his and turn them into victorious memories to relish on.

“No one said you’re right,” Harry backfires. “But your cock in my mouth sounds pretty fucking tempting.”

Louis hums agreeably, hand twisting into the back of Harry’s hair to scratch his nails into his scalp. “Sounds fucking great, just hope you aren’t one to gag, sweetheart.” Harry doesn’t respond entirely, only falling to his knees with a crack of his caps and feeling Louis’ zipper at the tip of his nose. “Needy for me, Princess?”

He nuzzles his nose deep into Louis’ crotch, the metal zip catching at his bottom lip. Harry reaches up and nubs with his fingers at the teeth of the zip, gently stroking all places sensitive. Louis’ hand in his hair had never left, but it tugs hard at the curls where Harry can feel some stray pieces of hair being pulled from his scalp. He squeaks involuntarily, and Louis, the fucked up millionaire, doesn’t apologise. Only fucks his crotch forward to grind and smother Harry’s face against him.

“Fucking tease,” Louis bites, second hand joining with the other to card through the latter’s hair. Harry licks his lips thoroughly, gazing at Louis’ crotch and humming delightfully. Louis pressures Harry to “hurry the fuck up”, hissing obscenely when Harry glides his fingertips up Louis’ thighs to finally land on the zipper, tugging it down with one fluent pull.

It’s fascinating seeing how hard Louis is in his tight briefs, and it makes Harry wonder how hot he makes Louis just by the thought of sitting on his face. Maybe Louis has thought about it for quite some time, much like Harry. He probably hasn’t. Louis has probably fucked way too many people from Grindr to really care about some stupid Bambi assassin like Harry. Who cares, anyway. It’s a mission. It’s something that needs to be done. By the end of the week, a million pounds will be in his bank and his desires will be fulfilled.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re as fucking slow as your voice,” Louis criticises. Harry frowns, fingers looped at Louis’ jeans to haul them down. Pooling at Louis’ ankles are his pants seconds later, and Harry tries to speed himself up, but the only thing more embarrassing than being faulted for bad behaviour is shooting a load prematurely. And that may or may not be Harry’s plan for tonight.

Other than stealing the zirconia,  _of course._

“Good things come to people who wait,” Harry quotes, absolutely unnecessary for the time being and Louis thinks as so. He groans and shoves Harry’s face into his clothed cock before hissing “fuck you and your waiting”. Harry smirks, moving his lips around to securely fit against his bulge. He’s unable to fathom the sound that falls from Louis’ mouth. Maybe a mix of endearment and stress release, something like that.

He doesn’t try to keep Louis waiting. Time is money, apparently. Even in fucked up moments like this. Harry’s fingertips dip under Louis’ waistband as he doesn’t let his cock breathe in the fresh air, immediately in his mouth with a strangled moan from his throat. Louis is in a similar situation, the hands in Harry’s hair balled into bound fists, knuckles white against his scalp. Harry doesn’t move, lips wet at Louis’ skin. He’s big in his throat, hard to hold in. But Harry focuses on not gagging, to try and impress the rich bloke. He doesn’t want Louis to be anymore right.

“You’re fucking obscene.” Louis’ praising is all the better, and it’s probably the announcement that Harry can actually fucking move and give a proper blowie. So he does, lips tight around Louis’ cock as he draws up and sucks carefully. Louis moans into the air, atmosphere sensual with a tinge of tension. It’s just enough for Harry to keep going; the intense feeling that Louis perhaps hates him and would fuck him senseless… and that’s so fucked up that it’s fiercely arousing.

Louis fits so well in his mouth, sliding without any force in Harry’s mouth smoothly. Harry shuts his eyes and lets his taste senses flood his mind, and it’s just like any average cock - but it’s Louis’, which is somehow better. It’s probably nearly 100 thousand quid alone in his mouth at the moment.  _Fuck._

He drags himself down to the middle and finishes at the tip, repeating in a soft rhythm that has Louis’ breath shot. He hears the faint sound of Louis’ licking his dry lips, the ragged breathing slipping from his mouth as he tries to keep himself contained. It’s not working though, Harry knows. He knows Louis is losing it. Louis is pawing at his hair, he feels. Precious little whimpers are being pulled from his mouth as they circulate the room and echo into the hallways left and right. Harry then sucks down, nose to Louis’ skin as it presses into his abdomen. Harry blinks up to try receive eye contact with Louis, maybe a compliment or two. Instead, he sees Louis’ head thrown back with eyes staring hard into the ceiling, and Harry’s name comes out as a high pitched whine of desperate release.

Harry keeps going; no way he’s going to fucking stop right now. His ears are ringing with Louis’ calling his name but he blocks them, focusing on getting Louis right on libido’s edge. Harry smooths his hands around to Louis’ arse, cupping them in his palms and squeezing each cheek with equal amounts of love. They’re both delicate and full, the swell of his arse always such a wonder. Harry doesn’t relent with a perfect rhythm with his mouth, tip to base this time to take him in and fuck him up. It sends Louis to shock, and Harry knows his knees are starting to weaken when Louis repeatedly needs to shift his weight.

Then he’s shoved away, palm to the forehead as Harry leans back on his elbows. He’s in full view of Louis, half of him silhouetted by the night. He’s a beauty in Harry’s eyes, but his admiration is struck when Louis throws his shirt off and storms to Harry. He picks him up by his collar, Harry choking as he’s lifted from the ground and slammed violently into the wall. Louis stands before him, both hands touching Harry, and Louis trembles in a breath at Harry’s neck.

“You’re a fucking waste of space thinking that you can make me come early,” Louis growls. Harry feels his cock against his thigh, also hears him purr - almost diabolically. He grinds into Harry with a hellish giggle. “But let me just say your mouth is pretty useful.”

“Of course it is,” Harry scoffs. “Wouldn’t be able to tease you for being like this after ten fucking minutes–”

“You need to shut the fuck up, Bambi,” Louis condemns, hands falling down to Harry’s zipper, pulling them down without one look. “My come is worth more than your own house. You better fucking think again when you’re fucking filling up my ass, sweetheart.”

Harry shudders as he relaxes into the wall, Louis attaching his lips to bite at Harry’s soft skin. Harry grapples at Louis’ arse with two hands, pulling him forward so their crotches join together. Louis dips into his chest and moans, head strung over Harry’s shoulder as his hands slide into Harry’s briefs. His cock is in Louis’ hands being wanked off in a timid pace. Harry shouts an “oh fuck” in Louis’ hair as he kisses at his temple and fucks up into Louis’ hand, praise to keep going.

It’s a struggle to keep sane. There’s a leg being thrown around Louis’ thigh to hold them close together. Harry is slick in Louis’ hand with breaths coming out short and thick. Louis leans up to find Harry’s mouth, lips catching at Harry’s chin as he tugs hard at the cock in his hand. Harry throws a hand behind Louis’ neck, diving himself in to kiss him roughly, mouths messy with the wetness inside being spread over lips and down each other’s necks and jaws. Louis, then, removes his hand to assist Harry with his lack of nudity, taking off his shirt and jolting the pants and briefs from his legs.

They both stand naked in the corridor, Louis’ hand tightly wound around Harry’s wrist, and Louis has the eyes; the bedroom eyes. The eyes that glitter even in the smallest amounts of light, the tiny smirk that means absolutely everything. It’s been a while since Harry’s seen this look on Louis, or anyone in general. Louis looks fucking wonderful, so blissful. Harry wants to fuck him up the wall, against an oil painting, with a bottle of whisky by them, with their mouths stained red from kissing.

Instead, Louis leads him to one of the bedrooms up the stairs and first door left. And the first thing that happens after the door slams shut is Harry falling to the floor after Louis shoves at him. The carpet has ripped the skin from his elbows, burning flesh make Harry hiss a simple “fuck you” up to Louis. Louis drops to his knees, crawling over to Harry with arm long and dainty. His sneer on his face is delicate, despite his eyes feral with lust. Louis ends up bracketing Harry’s waist with his arms after settling between Harry’s legs, still remaining up on all fours on his knees. And they stay and stare, for a while, somewhat enchanting this gaze between them.

Louis glances at his chest, then back up to Harry’s eyes. “Too bad your assassin skills aren’t as great as your looks, Bambi.”

“Yeah, but I almost made you come in the corridor,” Harry chuckles, reaching up and pinching Louis’ nipples. Louis squeaks and slaps the touchy fingers from him, frowning down to Harry as the boy continues to laugh. “So your words mean nothing to me.”

Louis attacks Harry’s wrists with a grip above his head, pinning his arms to the carpet. “You think you’re such a fucking funny man,” he says in a sarcastic melody. “Let me remind you you’re the one who thought I wouldn’t suspect you were taking me on dates, and you’d come over here to try get me to fuck you.”

“Actually,” Harry interjects, “I once came over here because I missed you, the second time because I was scared that you hated me. And third time around, right about now, actually, you assumed bullshit when I said I wanted to try and kill you when I sit on your–”

Louis silences him with a hand around Harry’s cock, stroking fast to leave Harry in a strangled mess on the floor. His wrists are in the same position as they were the first night he met Louis, caught together with one hand. Little did he know then that he would be back in the same position less than 2 months later about to fuck Louis Tomlinson.

“When the fuck will you actually shut up,” Louis argues.

“When you fuck my pretty cock, sweetheart.” Harry snaps a hand from Louis’ hold to grab up to Louis’ neck and pull him down for a quick kiss. Louis lets go of his cock, flat on Harry’s stomach and harder than the diamond sitting, in fact, just three stories above this very room. And Harry knows this, kind of. But he pretends to know just so Zayn wouldn’t scream into his ear piece again.

Harry knows Louis wants to strangle him for being a talkative little shit, so he shuts up for the time being when he feels Louis’ cock slide up against his. Louis moans into his mouth; his breath hitting hotly against Harry’s skin and making him feel like he’s been blessed by the heavens above. Louis ruts down into him with a heavily slow pace to double Harry over is absolute ecstasy. Harry releases his second wrist from Louis with a cheeky smirk plastered on his face. Harry runs his hands down the curve of Louis’ tiny back, fingers pinching just at the swell of his ass. He fully gropes him, digs him hard into his crotch and Louis falls into Harry’s chest with a pant.

“You’re so fucking fit,” Louis whispers, and Harry knows he’ll never get over him saying that. “Want to ride you hard.”

“God,  _yes_ ,” Harry chokes out. Louis hums before dipping down to his neck, lips smooth against Harry’s jaw. He huffs over Harry’s skin and sinks his teeth just under his ear, Harry bucking up to catch his tip against the rim of Louis’ rim. Louis gasps and struggles to keep a moan in, instead, strangling out a whine from the back of his throat.

He feels Louis grasp around him and position him, and Harry almost slaps his hand away. But Louis watches his eyes, and he knows that Harry isn’t sure what’s happening. He stops.

“You alright?” Louis whispers, and Harry gulps and sees how Louis’ eyes flicker at him so endearingly. Harry forgets how to breathe for a few seconds. “Are you… Like, you okay with not using anything?”

He is, but. “More worried about how your ass is going to feel tomorrow morning without using anything… like?”

But the filthy boy shrugs and laughs wickedly. “I want it to hurt,” he mumbles, sitting up from Harry’s chest and levering himself over Harry’s cock. Harry runs his palms up Louis’ thighs to rest at his waist. Perfect little body. “I haven’t fucked anyone since I was 22, so I’m clean unless you have something.”

He’s in shock, really. Louis didn’t seem like the type of guy to keep to himself for four years. Whatever. Harry’s going to be his first in years. Excellent.

“Thought you were a bit more of a slut,” Harry scoffs.

And Louis slaps him square in the face. The sound is bitter coming from his cheek, and Harry is left with a mouth wide open and eyebrows high, astonished.

“Shut your mouth, you stupid fish,” Louis hisses. Harry’s about to speak, but he feels his cock between Louis’ ass and he’s left breathless, again. “Calling me a slut, how fucking dare you. Might I consider you trying to crawl up to me for my fucking zirconia no less than two months ago, you fucker.”

Harry grazes his nails down his silky thighs. “Not as bad as a slut, I hope. At least what I do gets me the money I deserve, unlike you, who seduces every man he sees to get his way.”

“You deserve nothing,” Louis fights, glaring down at Harry and settling down the tip of his cock. “You absolutely deserve nothing, Bambi. Especially me.”

Louis bottoms out on top of him with a sigh, eyes lifting from Harry’s eyes to flitter up at the ceiling. Harry watches his mouth gape open and toes curl on either side of his body. Magical, truly magical. Harry grips so hard against Louis’ waist they imprint bruises. Then Louis tries to move, but he whimpers with a closed mouth that quivers. He’s hurt. Fucking hell, the fucking bastard.

“I told you to use something,” Harry groans, soothing him by thumbing circles on his hip bones. Louis grumbles disapprovingly.

“You told me nothing,” Louis mutters. “You’re just hung as fuck. I’m not used to it.”

“Whatever.”

He rolls his eyes intentionally, but they stay at the back of his head when Louis grinds, feeling his tight heat burn against him. It hurts, almost. He sees Louis’ face screw up above him, but it softens. Each time he falls back down to sit warmly on Harry’s skin the hard crinkles by his eyes fade away and his mouth opens a bit. With it comes a soft groan or a string of profanities. And he always sounds so sweet, whatever comes out of his mouth is sweet. It makes Harry fuck up into him a bit harder.

“Can’t believe I’m letting a piece of shit like  _you_  fuck  _me_ ,” Louis tuts. Harry nods and runs the bottom of his tongue over his lip, agreeing with him. “Oh, _God_.”

His cock is hard against his lower belly and Harry wants to grab it and fuck him over and make him come. Make him feel embarrassed, to dominate over him. To get the power he’s been thirsting over for the past two months. But he keeps his hands settled by his hips, grinding and lifting him so Louis can feel good in all the right places. Louis is panting above him with a stutter of his hips. He’s coming undone in Harry’s arms. Harry can see the beads of sweat crystallising on his forehead. He’s beautiful and delicate. And he’d scratch his fingertips against Harry’s chest every time Harry wavers his hands over the curves of his abdomen.

Louis’ moves become more vigorous against him, and the slapping of skin becomes more prominent. It’s better audibly than it is visually, and Louis doesn’t seem to get enough of fucking himself down on Harry’s cock. But he doesn’t make any loud noises, and he doesn’t dare to moan out Harry’s name. That’s something Harry wants to push out of him.

His eyes are closed and his hands are clenched, settled on Harry’s stomach as he moves his arse in slow, but fluent movements. Harry doesn’t stop himself to praise the man above him. Like fuck this man hasn’t been fucked since he was 22. His thighs don’t tremble the least. Harry’s struggling to keep his up to support Louis’ small back.

“You’re perfect,” Harry whispers to him, and Louis whines and stops moving. His hands are still bundled at Harry’s stomach, and his arse is down with his cock still hard inside him. His hair is strung over his face, damp with sweat. Harry’s fingertips are still firm against his curvaceous hips.

Louis blinks up to him with his eyes vibrant blue and cheeks stained red. He smiles softly to Harry with a tilt of his head.

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me.” And of course he’d tantalise, but what was there to expect.

But he does, holding Louis tight on the hips and flipping him from top to bottom, Louis’ back on the ragged carpet, scalding his skin as he slides across it. Harry puts two hands on either side of his head and glares down to Louis who looks past his eyelashes and grins sinfully. Harry simpers, removing his left hand and reaching for Louis’ cock. He strokes him once, watching as Louis’ face contorts into bliss.

“You’re going to make me come,” Louis warns, feet hooking under Harry’s calves. “C’mon, on with it.”

The impatient man gets his wish, Harry rocking his hips calmly to meet with stroke of his hand down his cock. He feels Louis’ toes curl into his calves, digging his nails into his skin. They pinch him and Harry giggles with a jut of his crotch. Louis grasps around Harry’s biceps, mumbling something that sounds like “so fucking fit,” and that’s very okay with Harry. He powers on with the praise Louis sends him, all the love from his filthy moans and eyes starting to glisten with tears.

He’s too precious when Harry fucks into him hard, mewling left and right with his eyes screwed shut and nose flared. He mouths an “oh, fuck” with not much else to speak for. Harry releases his cock and grips onto Louis’ waist, controlling his thrusts into a steady pace. Louis’ body tuts and his hands curl into the matted carpet as he tries to scratch for something to hold onto. He’s left scraping at the ground, the noise gravelly; just like his breathing. He’s starting to create helpless whines that come out in his breath and that hang low in his throat. And they’re pretty, and serene.

Harry keeps nailing into him, pace becoming unsteady with his eyelids drooping and lip becoming caught between the hard bite of his teeth. Louis shakes beneath him, trembling almost. And Harry thrives off of it. He reaches forward, plummeting down to be chest to chest. Their skin’s sticky against each other, hot and sweaty and it makes Harry groan. Both arms are beside Louis now, forearms by his ears and hands carding into his tousled hair, feeling thicker than the air around them. Harry looks down, and Louis looks up, and there Harry sees Louis blowing him a kiss.

Harry grins. “Think you have the breath for it?”

“I’m fitter than you,” Louis says. His voice doesn’t seem to be proving any points right now. “Pull my hair.”

He smirks before doing as requested. With a pleasant smile, he pulls. Hard. Louis’ head is forced up with chin to the ceiling, exposing his love bitten neck. Harry doesn’t let the air touch it.

He kisses fiercely, biting every five seconds and licking every two. He’s not moving his hips anymore but he feels Louis’ cock against his belly and he’s putting pressure against it. He hears Louis hiss into his ear, a hand crawling behind his neck and sliding his fingers into his curls to keep him grounded. He will need it.

“I’m going to come,” Louis warns tiredly. Harry hums without a caring, trembling bone in his body. He slams into his arse hard, and Louis twists his hand in Harry’s hair with a squeak. “Fuck, Harry, I said I was going to fucking come–”

“What do you think this is? Croquet? I’m fucking going to make you come, you twit.” Louis scoffs at him and immediately tries to shove at Harry’s shoulders, but Harry grabs his wrists and pin them above his head. Louis’ eyes grow wide with fear, and he doesn’t dare blink. “Could kill you, couldn’t I?”

Louis doesn’t attack him back, or tries to defend himself. He whimpers, “Y-You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not,” Harry whispers closely. His eyes fall over Louis’ body. He will never get enough of him. “If I was on a mission, I could. Fuck you hard with carpet burns on your back and elbows, and you’d die with the same markings. But just with a slit in your throat too.”

“F-Fuck,” Louis stammers incompetently, hands dragging over Harry’s shoulder blades. Harry stutters his cock forward, and Harry nudges it. Louis falls completely out of reach, paralysed by his own libido. “Harry, fuck.”

“Like my name, don’t you?”

“I fucking hate your name,” Louis spits up at him, angry and mind still around the twist. Harry raises his eyebrows, a fair warning. Louis doesn’t listen to it. “Fuck your name. Fuck your name like you’d fuck me. Pathetic for an assassin. _Bambi_ would be ashamed.”

Harry grins sympathetically; it’s nothing but sarcastic. “You’re pathetic, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Kiss me, bastard.”

He reaches for him but Harry’s already down and pressing their mouths together tightly. He’s warm, Louis is. Everything about Louis is warm. But every time Harry hammers into him it gets hotter and hotter, and Louis’ moans grow louder and louder to echo in every nook and cranny in the room. The chaffing of Louis’ back is ratchet, but it’s a noise that Harry can’t live without right now.

Louis falls limp to the floor when he comes. His hands flail boneless above his head and his legs are spread wide with them bent slightly at the knees. Harry doesn’t relent, using Louis with the hope that he does suffer a bit. Louis is sneering up to him with a mouth licking over his bitten lips, blinking like a tamed pussy cat with no meal to eat. A twink. He’s a fucking twink.

“Paint me, love,” Louis says, hand coming down to his stomach as he draws a small circle around his navel. Harry chokes up, pulling from Louis’ arse and violently tugging at his own girth with little time to waste. Louis is still circling and caressing his own body. Harry watches it, following the tip of his finger, carefully. He thumbs over his tip and whispers for Louis to moan his name again, in which he does, properly. He even moans a little and curls his pretty back for him. He feels his feet cold against his calves once again and the touch sends him to complete madness.

He comes straight over Louis’ stomach, reaching all the way up to his left nipple and back down to his cock laying flat and abused on his abdomen. He takes himself down from his high by limply falling back with his arse to the carpet and Louis still in obscene view. Harry sighs, and follows the wonderful trails left on Louis’ skimpy body. They lead him everywhere. Everywhere was perfect and beautiful.

Why is Harry doing this for Zayn.

“Well,” Louis whispers. There’s been two minutes of silence between them. Harry wants quiet time. “You’re such a fucking minx.”

“How about you shut the fuck up,” Harry laughs at him, hands slipping up Louis’ legs to rest at his reddened knees. “Are we sleeping in here?”

And he expects Louis to probably question why he said  _we_ , or why he was even staying here in the first place. But there’s nothing from him. He nods, lifting his torso from the floor with his forearms behind him. Louis eyes him, pupils still blown. Harry thinks he looks absolutely divine.

“Bed time for me.” Louis yawns in time, and Harry thinks it’s appropriate to take him into bed. That seemed to be on Louis’ mind as well, by the way he doesn’t move even when Harry stands up tall and looks to be moving away from Louis to step into bed. But Harry picks him up, arm under the bend of his knees and across his shoulders.

Louis curls into him, head tucked up nicely with his wearied naked body. Harry moves them to the bed, settling Louis down on the left before him stepping over to the right. Louis doesn’t bother to get under the covers, unlike Harry who’s diving under them the moment his finger laid upon the satin sheets.

“I’m not your fucking slave of the night,” Harry argues when Louis whines to him. He’s gruff with Louis, and that’s what makes the brat sit up and get under the sheets himself. He kicks Harry’s shin while doing it. An  _accident_ , Harry supposes. “Absolute baby.”

“ _Your_  baby,” Louis titters, crawling over to Harry and dancing his fingers over the curve of his hip. An arm secures around it without any request. “Stay with me.”

Harry can’t. “Who said I was going away?”

But Louis holds him tighter. It’s obvious he’s heard those words before. “Please.”

But he really can’t. “I promise.”

Louis doesn’t speak after then, or for the next twenty minutes. Neither does Harry. Louis falls asleep with Harry between his arms. His snores are hitting the back of Harry’s neck.

Harry looks at the alarm on the side of the bed. 3am, it hits. Louis has been asleep for an hour, and Harry doesn’t want to move. But if he doesn’t, he’ll sleep through to morning. And… yeah, Zayn killing him tomorrow isn’t on his agenda.

So he gets up at 3:17, pacing out with Louis feeble in bed.

Harry is out of the house by 3:35, the zirconia in his very two hands.

***

He calls Liam the moment he walks past the room holding the gem, the door open just the slightest. Liam answers with a cheery hello, but his mood’s about to turn.

“Liam,” Louis huffs. “The fucking asshole took the zirconia.”

****

“And by this, Harry Styles, you’re the most successful accomplice we’ve had on the team!” Niall claps him hard on the back, and Harry nods and relishes in the appreciation and the proudness radiating from the blonde fellow. “And you thought he was going to be mailed in 58 pieces, Zayn!”

Zayn’s stepping around the boxed zirconia. It’s beautiful in the velvet casing. Zayn has been admiring it since Harry had ran in with it no less than four hours ago.

“Whatever. He came back with it. And now, we can all ship it off and split the money.  _Evenly_ ,” Zayn grins, forcing happiness in the room. Harry’s getting a fucking million dollars. And all he had to do was sleep with with a guy. What the fuck. “By the way, Harry, enlighten me. Louis? How many out of ten in bed?”

Harry gapes and widens his eyes, stepping into the shadow and falling shy. “I-I… um.” He twitches his foot nervously and laughs. “He’s okay, you know. The regular type of shag you’d get.”

“Regular.” Zayn barks with laughter. “What do you expect from a mediocre millionaire.”

Niall’s out for lunch an hour later, but he brings back a bagel and orange juice for Harry. Zayn’s contacting some stupid services to mail this diamond off for the millions in return. Harry’s content in his chair, sipping through the straw of his drink. He thinks too much about Louis and his plans after quitting the team.

He has college on his mind, actually. Rather than ditching the country to not be killed by Louis the next time he’s walking alone on the street. But then again, he can afford to probably go to college in Australia - so the benefit of two. But he’ll miss Louis.

Louis obviously knows the zirconia is gone by now. He probably checks for it over twenty times a day. Harry’s not surprised by his own assumptions. But it worries him. Louis threatened him when he tried looking for it. Louis has killed people when they’ve tried looking for it. What does this mean. Why did Louis trust Harry so much to even trust this assassin into this house to stay the night with him, after everything that happened two months ago.

“All done!” Zayn dusts his two hands and breathes out merrily. “Fuck, so long it’s been. I can’t believe it.”

“Should have hired the kid earlier,” Niall praises, stepping forward and ruffling the top of Harry’s head roughly. Harry squeaks disapprovingly. “To us, eh?”

“Right. To  _us_.” And they’re all blinking left, where Louis stands in his trench coat with his own accomplice by his side. Harry sinks hard into his chair. He’s about to shit himself. “Because I’m pretty damn sure I didn’t let you fucking take the zirconia for fucking free.”

“Tommo,” Zayn chuckles, standing from his chair. Louis steps forward, approaching Zayn, who doesn’t shed a glint of fear. “Glad for you to join us on our lovely celebration of one of our missions; you know, the one where we have tried to kill that bloke. Haiden? Well, young Harry here ran over him on the way back to base!”

Louis pulls out a pistol from his right pocket, cocking it instantaneously when he holds it up directly to Zayn’s head. Zayn puts his hands up with a tisk, but a smirk stays secure on his mouth.

“Dear, oh, dear,” Zayn taunts. “Since when was violence the best solution, Tommo. Nice gun, by the way. Didn’t you use this last time?”

“Fuck up with the talk. Where’s my fucking zirconia.”

Niall’s standing behind the chair and Harry can’t tell whether or not he’s shitting his pants or remaining silent for the sake of his brain staying in tack. Harry watches between the two, unsure of what to do. Or what he should comprehend. Louis is about to blow his fucking brains out. Louis will take no chances to murder him on the spot. Or Niall. Or  _him_. He’s afraid of Louis.

“And you’d think I know,” Zayn argues calmly with a shrug. Louis adjusts the gun in his hand, still directly facing the middle of Zayn’s forehead. Zayn doesn’t speak of shit. He doesn’t hesitate to torment him over and over. “Louis Tomlinson, are you accusing me of stealing your precious zirconia?”

“I’m not accusing you.” Louis removes the gun from his head, eyes locked firmly with Zayn’s however. Harry gulps and crosses his ankles underneath the chair. A gunshot is fired to the air, and the ceiling now has a clean hole to see straight through to the blue sky of the day. “I’m accusing your little, ratty piece of shit, Harry Styles, for fucking me over and stealing the fucking thing right under my nose.”

Zayn leers at Louis after gazing to Harry. There’s an obscure smile on his face.

“Too bad, hm,” Zayn laughs. “You should have been more careful, right? Maybe you should get more fuck boys to protect your precious antiques, and maybe their dicks too.”

While Zayn snickers in his face, Louis cocks the gun in his right hand, fingers dancing over the trigger as he glares dark into his enemy’s eyes. Yep, Zayn is really fucking them over for everything. Harry is definitely going to die tonight.

“I’m giving you one last chance,” Louis raises the gun to his chest, prodding him in the shoulder. There’s no hesitation in Louis’ voice. One word, and Louis can fire. Harry can’t tell if Zayn knows this. “Where’s my zirconia.”

Zayn was tight lipped before, and there’s no budge of his mind that is making him anymore reluctant to say where it is. So he shrugs with a mumble of “Eh, I dunna,” and everyone in the room had thought it was the end of the lies, the end of Zayn’s life.

But it isn’t.

The fear that crossed Zayn’s eyes is noticeable at this point in time. But Louis had only quirked up an eyebrow and hastily brought the gun down to his side. Louis steps back, eye contact still intense between them. He then turns to face Niall and Harry, who both shoot their eyes open in ample anxiety.

Niall stays somewhat protected by the chair, but Harry is frozen with a capped bottle of orange juice warming in his sweaty hands. Louis treads to them slowly. Harry can retrace the footprints of of each step he takes across the tiles. There’s a soft thump of his vans each time they touch the shiny surface, and it’s a wonder as to why a millionaire like Louis wears something as simple as vans.

How Harry does wish this situation was as lucid as his thoughts. Louis is in front of him now, vans at the tip of his boots, and two undisturbed blue eyes gaze down to him. Harry’s trapped. He knows he’s trapped. Murder is sitting right in Louis’ delicate hands.

He tilts his head to the side to have a better angle on Harry’s face. There’s just no way to not think about how good Louis had looked last night. It’s possible to think any differently of that sweaty, glowing man losing himself while fucking himself down on his cock. Impossible.

He cups his free hand under Harry’s jaw and purrs when Harry squeaks under his innocent touch. “You trust me as much as I trust you, don’t you Harry.”

There’s no lie hidden inside that Louis doesn’t trust him. Then again, the trust to let Harry in his house and stay with him for the night means something. Harry has broken the trust bond between them. He doesn’t know if Louis has forgiven him. He’s 90% sure he hasn’t.

“I’d trust you to tell me where my zirconia is, wouldn’t you  _baby_?” It opens his eyes just how manipulative Louis is with seduction. But what really opens his eyes is just how fucking much he wants to tell Louis where the zirconia is so they can fuck window side this afternoon. “I feel like you’d be a good boy and tell me where it is, hm?”

A pink tongue pops out and licks over the chaffed surface of his lips. Harry watches. It’s enticing and hypnotic. Louis is making him go mental. He drags his thumb across the fullness of Harry’s cheeks, those turning as rosy red as his lips. Leaning down, he brings Harry up to kiss him full on the mouth. Harry becomes limp in his hands, letting Louis slide their mouths together with the lazy energy from last night’s encounter surrounding them both. He feels so warm and smooth, like the mocha latte you’d get on the coldest of mornings just before you head to the office for the day. Louis feels like home.

He pulls away, and Harry remembers that they’re in the room full of murderers and stealers. He’s one of them.

“Where is it, Harry?” Louis questions. His eyes are deep blue, like the mysteries of the dark ocean where the swell is too large to see underneath. He’s lost in them. Harry is afraid.

“Um.” Harry looks left, where Louis’ accomplice is staring blankly at a pistol and gliding his hand on the shiny surface. Right, there’s Zayn glaring at him with terrifically blown eyes in fear that Harry’s about to kill their case - and their share of a million pounds. “I-I… I can show you.”

Louis smirks at him and nods weakly. He kisses Harry once more, just a small peck of thank you.

“I knew I could trust you, sweet cheeks.”

Then Harry’s up, with all eyes on him. He raises both of his eyebrows to Zayn the moment his back is turned on Louis. Zayn doesn’t react. But Harry knows he knows that Harry isn’t going to lead Louis to the right place. He’ll strike when he’s ready and when Louis isn’t. It’s all under control. He steps forward into the corridor, using his finger print to pass the security doors. He lets Louis pass through first. Harry looks back once more at Niall and Zayn who send him a nod of appreciation and luck. Harry needs it.

He goes through the doors and they’re locked. They’re metal shutters, so both sides of the room are blocked from vision. There’s two doors once they’re inside, one left and one right. The one on the left has the zirconia, the right has special supplies that Harry really doesn’t want the lad to get into if he fucks up. He paces forward and in front of Louis, purposely grazing his fingertips by his lower body. He can hear Louis shudder beside him. Harry sneers.

“Once more,” Harry says, eyes not to Louis. Louis mutters a confused “what?”. “Kiss me again.”

Still mildly perplexed, Louis steps in and rolls his eyes before lifting himself up to kiss Harry chastely. He seems bothered. That’s okay. Harry’s not going to lead him the way anyway.

“Don’t be a cheeky shit. Show me where it is. I have business to do.”

Harry surges forward with hands groped on Louis’ hips to kiss him heatedly. Louis doesn’t remove himself from Harry, instead, letting himself get involved. Harry doesn’t let him breathe, tongue smothering every breath he could take. Harry’s shoved up the wall next to the supply closet door, and he whines into Louis’ mouth before bucking his hips up and pushing his finger tips into the bruises he left last night.

Louis has two hands on his shoulders, pinning him securely to the wall. He growls through his breathless sighs, eyes turning sharp as they stare hard into Harry’s.

“Don’t fuck around with me, Harry.” Harry surveys him. He’s serious. He’s going to be killed in under a minute if Harry doesn’t turn him around and lead him to the zirconia. The gun is still ready in his pocket, hanging out slightly. Harry could grab it and shoot him if he tried. But why should he. “Where is it. Don’t be like this.”

“Louis, please,” Harry says tranquilly. “Y-You can afford other things, can’t you? Please just–”

Louis takes him straight at the neck, small hands choking around his wind pipe with thumbs lifting under his jaw. Harry feels life slipping away from him.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Louis screams. He tugs Harry forward and slams the back of his head cleanly to the wall. Harry snarls out a “fuck!” before Louis begins to snap aggressively again. “Every fucking part of you is absolutely diabolical. You’re fucking mad, you piece of shit. How fucking dare you.”

“Call me all you fucking want, but you’re the one that let the diamond go. You’re the one that trusted me,” Harry wheezes, struggling to pronounce anything with the grip Louis holds on him. He sees Louis’ face shrivel up in agony. He knows he’s wrong. Louis will never admit that. “I was only their assassin, their accomplice.”

“You’re not even a fucking assassin!” Louis argues angrily. “You haven’t murdered anyone, you piece of shit. You’re a school boy, for fuck’s sake! You’re doing this for God knows what reason. Why did you end up here, Harry? Why are you trying to fucking become this person that I hate to be!”

The hold around Harry loosens slightly, but it still strangles his words. “Why are you telling me what to do now? I’m not going to change for you, Louis.”

“I’m not asking you to change for me, you dickwit. I’m asking you to change for yourself. Before you become a name!”

He sees hurt in Louis’ eyes, for some reason. It’s not like Harry isn’t listening to him, but there’s nothing Louis can do. Harry is only here for the money, but if there were options for him to kill, to steal, he’ll do it. Louis saying he’s not an assassin just wants him to prove him wrong, by assassinating someone. Him.

Harry gulps, and Louis can feel his Adam’s apple bob at his palms. “You’re just scared I’m going to turn against you one day. When I can actually defend myself and kill anyone with my bare hands.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Harry!” Louis hisses frustratedly. “I fucking care about you a whole lot more than your stupid fucking school boy brain thinks! Do you think I want to see someone get hurt when they don’t deserve to? Holy shit! Is everything so hard to articulate!”

“Why do you bother to care about me. I’m against you. I stole your fucking zirconia because I need the money. I never said I was going to continue after this. I just need the fucking money!”

He smacks him silly into the wall again, but the grasp around his neck loosens once again. “What the fuck is wrong with you. Out of any place to go, you went to Zayn. You went to fucking Zayn.”

“He’s treating me better than you are now.”

“Oh sod off! He would have killed you off before you could even see the light of the money you would have received!” Louis scolds. Harry rolls his eyes at the hysterical man. “God, you… you don’t even fucking know, do you?”

“Do I want to know?”

Louis is silent for a moment, and it worries Harry. Louis’ hands come from his neck and slide down to his shoulders, where they rest, lazy. Harry doesn’t try to be difficult. He lets them stay there, and watches as Louis eyes fall down to the shoes between them.

“He’s a greedy man, H.” Louis doesn’t look to him. Harry senses there’s definitely something wrong with Louis. “Years back Zayn had stolen an artwork of mine. It belonged to a secret group in Canada. His accomplice was just like you, except he had a name. And he was constantly on the move because he was always targeted by the assholes who wanted him dead. Do you know who he is, Harry? Nick? You’ve heard of him before?”

Harry snaps up at the name. “You fucking killed him.”

Louis perks up fast with his eyebrows furrowed. “I did fucking not!” Louis hisses. “Why would I kill my boyfriend. Do you think I would do something like that, Harry? Do you fucking think I would spend 6 months of my life, who turned out to be against my back the entire time, and kill him in the end! When I fucking cared about him?!”

_What._  “What?”

“Zayn’s telling you lies, Harry!” Louis cries out. “He would have got you too. That or he would have held onto you until you were too much trouble, when your name was too big!”

“B-But Zayn said you sent him back in six pieces…” Harry whispers with remorse. “He said you kissed him and… and then did that!”

“Were you fucking there when they found Nick, Harry? Because I had found out two weeks later that he was terminated. I had Liam fucking tell me because they made fucking sure I wouldn’t find out. To believe he fled the country and took my painting with it. No! He gave the painting to Zayn and before he could get the twenty million quid from it, he got him with a katana and killed him on the spot!”

Harry can’t see. He doesn’t know why he trusts Louis. But he trusts him. Louis wouldn’t lie to him just to get him on his side, would he? If Zayn really did kill Nick, Zayn would have killed him too.

Is Louis trying to save his life?

“I can’t believe… I-I don’t know if I should believe you.” Harry bites his lip and lets his eyes fall down to Louis’ torso. He hears Louis sigh out exasperatedly. “How am I sure that you’re not just saying this stuff just to get me to come to you, to give you the zirconia?”

It’s a legitimate question. Louis leaves it for thought for five seconds, earning Harry’s perplexed stare. Then, he answers.

“It’s hard to trust someone in this business, Harry,” Louis whispers. “But I swear on my fucking life, you have to trust me with this.”

“Those words can mean nothing,” Harry states. “I always used to say it. It means nothing. I could say swear on my fucking life I would never tell, cross my heart to be buried six feet under. But I would tell if it means my life, if something so precious to me, was on the line.”

Exhaling, Louis shakes his head at Harry then looks down. He can’t even make eye contact with Harry, it seems. Harry knew it was too good to be true, that Louis would actually be a trustworthy man.

Instead Louis grabs his gun and Harry freaks out.

“L-Louis, please–”

“Take the gun.” Harry calms down, but he’s still tense with bewilderment. “Harry, take the fucking gun. I’m not armed. We’re not going to battle it to the death.”

And Harry does as told, being very careful not to trigger it. And Louis steps back from him, completely. Harry is lost.

“I said swear on my life,” Louis says. “If you think I’m lying, shoot me.”

Harry is so,  _so_  lost. “What the  _fuck_ , Louis!”

“Do it.”

Harry blinks to him, abashed by the lies, the truth, and Louis. What is he supposed to do in a situation like this. Louis could still be lying. Why can’t he trust Louis as much as he should, or can? Is this really about a fucking zirconia?

Harry raises the gun. Louis’ eyes water; his pupils quiver but he doesn’t say a word. Louis stays low, head dropping down to look to his feet for his final answers to questions. He hopes to dear God one of those weren’t “why me, Harry?”. He hopes with all he’s got.

His finger grazes the trigger, but it rests there. It’s audible to the both of them, the slight click of metal against metal. One bump and the bullet would go straight through Louis’ heart. Harry only wishes that it was that easy to pull it, for someone to force his hand to do it. He can’t trust Louis. He can’t trust Zayn.

_Trust no one._

“H-Harry, please,” Louis stutters. It hurts Harry’s chest, much more than any bullet to the heart would. “Killing me would be easier than living a life without someone I care about.”

No. He can’t. He  _cannot._

“Lou…” Harry lowers the gun, eyes feeling strained as they stare from Louis. “I-I…” He trails off in complete awe, and immediately throws the gun rightwards - completely out of reach. “Oh my  _God._ ”

“Harry?” Louis questions softly. It’s smaller than any kitten’s first meow. Harry feels pathetic. “Baby?”

Harry has his face in his palms, rubbing over his tense skin with sobs coming from his mouth. There’s a pair of arms wrapped around him in no time. The touch feels so foreign, but Harry slides into it as if it isn’t.

“Don’t leave me, Harry,” Louis whispers to him, kissing the knuckles that cover his distraught face. Harry shakes his head, unable to look at Louis. He was about to kill Louis. He was going to kill him. He can’t kill him. He can’t believe he was about to fucking kill Louis. “Harry, please look at me. I… I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I don’t want to leave you.” He nuzzles his nose into Louis’ shoulder and inhales. Smells just like last night. “I-I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t.” And he wishes it was that easy.

But maybe it was.

Louis litters kisses over his forehead, but Harry refuses to show his face. He’s ashamed. He doesn’t deserve Louis’ attention. He deserves to be left and become roadkill for Zayn. Still, Louis keeps spreading the kisses, keeps telling him that he doesn’t want him to leave. Why.

Then there’s a distant, transmitted voice, and Louis’ follows.

“Kill them,” Louis says gruffly. “Kill the both of them.”

Harry only realises then he’s talking to Liam over the phone. And Liam’s about to kill his associates.

“What the fuck are you doing!” Harry screams at him, but Louis hangs up before Harry could act. “You’re a fucking murd–”

Louis cuts him off with a forced kiss, and it is so stale and tastes like betrayal. Harry stays close with Louis arms thrown around his neck. There’s two gunshots heard in the main room, and they split their kiss the moment silence is spread in the entire base.

He glares at Louis disapprovingly, but Louis instantly answers for himself. “I’m letting you go from them,” Louis says. “You don’t need them. They’re stealers, murderers. I need you more than them.”

“Why me?”

Louis rolls his eyes and reaches at Harry’s face to pinch at his cheek. “Everyone needs a bambi assassin in their lives.”

Harry fonds slightly, head tipping left as he nudges against Louis’ hand. He’s still a murderer, a liar. Louis is a fucking idiot, he supposes. But so is he. He’s going to end up falling head over heels for Louis, he knows of it. Not like he hasn’t been knocked off his feet already.

“Hate to ask,” Louis says timidly, hand slipping down past his shoulder and down his arm. It ends at his own hand. Louis laces their fingers together. “But can I have my zirconia back, love?”

Harry giggles, eyes crinkled to the point he can’t see Louis glow with amusement. Harry nods, however, and he leads Louis left. The password is entered, and they’re inside the room where the zirconia lies in its velvet box. Louis smiles at it from a distance.

“In a box and everything,” Louis observes with a nod. “Nice.”

Harry closes it up and hands it to Louis. “Be careful, it’s valuable.”

Louis scoffs and snickers light-heartedly. “50 million quid in your hands just before, Harold. Glad you didn’t shatter it while fleeing my house at what, 5 in the morning?”

“Wait, what.” Harry is about to have a stroke. “50 million?”

“Yeah,” Louis grins, holding the box proudly in his hands. He opens the lid, inspecting the top of the polished zirconia, now back in its delicate owner’s hands. “You wonder why I didn’t want to lose it. Passed down from my grand pappy.”

Harry would have got 1/50 share if Zayn had kept him for the dealing of the cash. One million out of 50 million. What the fuck. What the fuck was he saying about  _even_ share?  

“Zayn was only going to give me a million,” Harry announces. “He was going to sell it and give me a million.”

Louis laughs and closes the box, stepping forward to Harry and reaching for his hand. “Lucky we killed him then,” he grins with a cheeky wink. Harry wants to fucking hit him over the head with a gun for being so mischievous.

Oh God, they just killed two people.

Leaving the room, and the corridor, they enter the main room where Liam stands on his phone scrolling with a gun casually in his hands. Niall and Zayn lay dead on the floor, clean bullet holes through their foreheads with blood spilt messily on the floor. The scene is gruesome. Harry never wants to see something like this again.

“They were literally so easy to kill off,” Liam snickers, shoving both the gun and phone into his back pockets. He shows the front of his shirt, blood stained with small paint splatters of crimson. “They got my shirt dirty.”

“Payno, since when did you fucking care about your clothes,” Louis hisses at him. Liam seethes at the man, walking over to a limp Zayn on the floor and picking him up by the legs, dragging him through the blood spill. “And don’t make anymore mess, please. Fuck.”

Things get taken care of. The dead bodies are in the boot, Liam saying he’ll take care of them after he drops Louis and Harry back home to protect the zirconia. And Liam’s actually a very nice guy, as a matter of fact. Louis tells him a few things about Liam, how they were good friends even before they were told about their missions and identities as assassins at aged 16. Harry can’t believe how long Louis has been in the business for. Harry hopes he doesn’t stay for this long.

They’re back at the mansion in no time and while Harry had sat in the kitchen with a mug of tea, Louis had replaced the zirconia in it’s lawfully due spot.

Louis comes back down minutes after, not getting lost in the limitless amount of stairs and doors. It’s a wonder how he doesn’t get lost in his own house. Then again, being alone, Louis probably only uses the first floor of the house.

Harry sips at his tea and watches over the rim at Louis who leans against the kitchen walk through arch. He looks dishevelled, but in no way frustrated or tired. He looks beautiful.

Louis catches him in the act, but Harry doesn’t pretend he wasn’t staring.

“What are you looking at Bambi?”

Harry simpers over his tea but places it to the side and stands from his stool. He trots to Louis who stands tall with arms folded over his chest and a defensive smirk plastered on his face. Harry is definitely going to fall head over heels for him.

“Something gross,” Harry whispers to him. “A liar, too. Someone who teases me because I can’t move swiftly in a house and who calls me an  _elephant_.”

Louis is so quick to move Harry loses him halfway. But he’s up against the kitchen wall, head knocking against a frame of a canvas painting, with Louis holding him at the shoulders and grinning fiercely.

“I forgot how much of a loser you were that night.”

“Who calls me a fucking  _loser_ ,” Harry adds. Louis slaps him weakly in the face, laughing shyly. Harry cannot believe him. “Also, you’re out of tea.”

Louis groans, upset. “Are you fucking kidding me,” Louis hisses. “What the fuck did you steal my teabags too? I swear to God I just restocked the other day! Now I have nothing to drink, asshole.”

And that’s very much okay, because, “A reason to take you out, then.”

Louis’ face falls short of a smile, turning into a sneer hastily. “Asking me on another date, H?”

“ _Another_ ,” Harry emphasises. Harry can see Louis’ cheeks blush at the top, but he doesn’t point it out in fear Louis will reject him. But like shit that would happen anyway. “How’s about it, then?”

He doesn’t know why he feels that sheer sense of rejection take over him. Maybe it’s because Louis looks up to him with those doe blue eyes and Harry remembers the entire reason he’s here today is because he was once his enemy. He had forgotten that this  _beautiful human being asshole millionaire_  is in the palm of his hands. And Louis cares about him.

“I’d be as much of an idiot as you if I said no,” Louis chuckles, letting their hands fall into place again and tangling together. Harry closes his eyes and leans forward to rest their foreheads together. He breathes in and out. He’s serene. He’s involved in something he never thought he ever imagine himself doing. And he’s thankful for that. It tells him there’s unexpected things to happen, and that he should live it out to see what will happen.

They head to the coffee shop late afternoon, strolling in the park alone with hands never leaving each other. Their trench coats are dark and miserable, but their eyes say otherwise. When they’re lazing by the park bench, Harry looks over to the millionaire. Hair slicked back with gel and eyelashes stiff from the cold. He doesn’t look to be a millionaire from far away, but close up he’s priceless.

Louis catches him staring again, and Harry does the same thing - he doesn’t look away. Instead, he’s the first to say something to him over the rim of his rose and vanilla tea.

“You’re perfect,” and it’s true. He doesn’t know if Louis believes him. That’s okay. As long as Louis doesn’t admit that out loud, then it’s okay. But he’s perfect despite smaller things that make him imperfect. He might kill people, sure. It’s for a good reason, he supposes. But Louis is something else.

And Louis grins up from his tea, laughing softly with his already frost bitten cheeks reddening. There’s something in his eyes that is warm, like home. He wonders if Louis sees that in himself, that he might love himself as much as Harry will accustom to. He hopes so.

There’s a small snicker from Louis again when the silence tries to divide them. He only moves closer, his head tilting left to rest his temple on Harry’s coated shoulder. He breathes out melodically; at peace.

“You’re pretty perfect too, Bambi.”

[it’s a tough few months after that. they try not to engage into too much trouble. liam’s man slaughtered on the way to a mission down south, so it leaves the two  _newly-announced-boyfriends_  exposed. in the end, they flee the country for overseas. they change their names illegally, but appropriately, when they arrive.

harry and louis styles].

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://since-he-was-eighteen.tumblr.com)


End file.
